Tango Tuesdays
by draigonfire
Summary: COMPLETED One class, three afternoons, and one of the most passionate dances known to man. Throw in a lust for revenge alongside a chance for the wealthy to become wealthier, and the results are bound to be catastrophic. . .or are they? DG


A/N* AH I know I should be working on Indentured Servitude but this idea came into my head and I just had to write it down. Consider it a detour for my writers block ^_^ yah it says it's updated but that's because I re- uploaded a revised version  
  
Tango Tuesdays  
  
Ginny Weasley was miserable.  
  
Six weeks ago, she took a preliminary test to surpass sixth year Potions-a class she found unusually unstimulating and mundane. Five weeks ago, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore decided that in the interest of personal health, a physical education course would be instilled, the classes separated by year. Four weeks ago, she attended her first Potions class with the seventh years.  
  
It really had been an interesting experience, being in a class with Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Despite being relatively close with the latter, Ginny had never quite merged with the infamous trio. And though her crush on The-Boy-Who-Lived had long evaporated, a part of her still wanted that acceptance of friends like them, as to everyone else at Hogwarts she was just Ron's little sister.  
  
Then, three weeks ago, the fitness classes began. It became crudely evident that Ginny's schedule conflicted, what with sixth year Physical Education occurring simultaneously with seventh year Potions, and it was simply natural for her to move into yet another seventh year course.  
  
She didn't know many seventh years, of course, but had regarded the class with indifference at first; for two weeks they were guided through an introduction to health by Professors McGonagall and Snape. There were times when she felt out of place around her brother's friends, but it was a feeling she'd grown accustomed to by now, and though the course was tedious, it never required much conversation or effort, thus never bothering Ginny more than usual.  
  
One week ago, Dumbledore hired a professor from Beaubaxtons Academy in France, known for her mastery of dance.  
  
Ginny exhaled loudly, slumping against the cold stone wall and wanting very much to bang her head into unconsciousness. Around her, nobody seemed to notice, much less Harry, Harry who'd not taken more than two seconds to break-no, lose his word, Ginny thought disgustedly, recalling his speechless shock when that Ravenclaw Elizabeth had approached him.  
  
It wasn't that she was smitten with Harry anymore, because if they hadn't agreed to be partners, she wouldn't be feeling so desolate, not to say desperate. Stupid class, she thought sullenly, folding her arms across her chest and scowling at the young instructor, Mademoiselle Nesbit, who'd arrived the day before.  
  
"When each of you have a partner, I'll assign a dance style to every pair," Mademoiselle Nesbit chirped enthusiastically in her accented English, flashing a white smile at Professor Snape lurking in the corner. Ginny saw him pink and offer a small grin in return, only to stiffen under the curious stare of Professor McGonagall, and despite her foul mood she allowed a chuckle.  
  
Snape glared at Ginny and the French woman continued obliviously. "You'll have two and a half weeks to choreograph a routine, with my help of course, and they will be performed for you peers. The best dance," she paused with an excited sparkle in her blue eyes, "will win house points."  
  
There was scattered applause, a few hoots and bursts of cheer. Ginny's gaze darted around furtively, noting with disappointment that most were paired already. "Damn you, Harry," she muttered, shooting deathly daggers towards where he was happily sneaking glances at his partner. He had promised her that she wouldn't find herself alone in this class, assured her they would be partners, but come the first pair of legs with a rack attached and Harry had forgotten all about his agreement, all about Ginny.  
  
It was the last straw. She was used to being ignored or overlooked by Harry, it was in his nature really, but he knew how apprehensive she was about a dance course, especially being a younger year, and she seethed at his insensitivity. She would just have to find someone spectacular to be her partner, Ginny huffed silently, and she would not only form an amazing routine, she'd win those dumb points and leave Harry regretful yet impressed.  
  
Sinking even further back, she imagined his groveling apology. Maybe he'd offer to take her out then, finally noticing her for someone other than the youngest Weasley, but she'd gracefully decline, because whoever her partner was would be romantic, passionate, and tall-everything Harry wasn't; he'd have to be if they were to stun everyone just by dancing. It was due payback for the years she'd wasted pining for Harry.  
  
Ginny sighed. It was hopeless, though. There existed no such guy, especially not within the restricted walls of Hogwarts. For the time being, she just needed a partner, any partner. She suddenly spotted Neville Longbottom lumbering towards her, and straightened her robes quickly. To her disappointment, however, he already had a partner; petite brunette Hufflepuff that stepped out from behind Ginny shyly.  
  
With another sigh of resignation, Ginny frowned and scuffed her already worn shoe against the floor. If she was lucky, Snape, McGonagall, and Nesbit would forget about her, forget she was there, and she'd be spared the humiliation. She could hear Hermione's trilling laugh, and tears stung her eyes. Why did I ever take that bloody test to pass out of Potions? She chided herself.  
  
A shadow fell across her, and Ginny dared to venture a peek in hope she'd finally found a partner. Seeing Professor Snape leering back at her, however, she visibly recoiled. He smiled, but unlike the one he'd given Mademoiselle Nesbit, this one didn't quite reach his dark, penetrating eyes and chilled her to the core.  
  
"Virginia Weasley," He acknowledged tonelessly, seeming to take delight in watching her quiver before him.  
  
"P-P-Professor Snape," She stammered, half-startled but more apprehensive.  
  
He made a show of checking the empty space beside her, and clucked his tongue. "This is a dance class, Miss Weasley," he drawled. "But I don't seem to see your partner anywhere around here."  
  
"I don't have one," she said in a voice so small he barely heard her.  
  
"How are you supposed to dance alone?" He mocked as if he truly didn't know her predicament, and the students around them began to quiet, taking an interest in their dialogue.  
  
"I, um, I don't know," Ginny replied helplessly, a deep red flushing up her cheeks as a Slytherin she faintly remembered named Blaise tittered a bit. She was not normally a spineless girl, the opposite, actually, but there was something about Severus Snape that intimidated her, and turned her courage to jelly.  
  
"Mademoiselle Nesbit," He called suddenly, and the remaining half of the room fell silent. The blonde looked up from a thick book Ginny could make out as The History of Dance and gave him another sweet, pearly smile.  
  
"Oui, Monsieur Snape?"  
  
He faltered for second, but unfortunately not for any longer. "This girl," He said coolly, pulling Ginny's cloak so she stood scarlet before the entire class, "was unable to find a boy to be her partner."  
  
The words came out in such a manner Ginny wanted to melt in humiliation, avoiding Hermione's sympathetic eyes and Harry's guilty ones. "That's terrible!" Mademoiselle Nesbit cried. "Nobody wants to dance with such a pretty girl?"  
  
Snape resisted a pleased sneer. "Apparently not," he responded, obviously thrilled that she'd unwittingly prolonged Ginny's embarrassment. He swept his black gaze over the crowd, and raised an eyebrow. "Is there somebody here who wouldn't mind Miss Weasley as their partner?"  
  
The Gryffindors looked at each other with regret; most of them had been paired already. Most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were sympathetic, but a few crueler ones and much of the Slytherin lot were hiding wicked laughs. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, pitying the redhead on the verge of tears and wishing she could lessen the gravity of the situation. And then a calm male voice rang out above the murmuring din.  
  
"I'll dance with her, Professor Snape."  
  
Harry blanched. Hermione gasped. Ron choked. And Ginny paled. Draco Malfoy was standing quite placidly from where his house was seated, a smirk on his face as he watched her with mild amusement. She felt suddenly scruffy under his scrutinizing gray glances, his silver-blond hair slicked back without a strand out of place and his rich black robes smooth and new.  
  
"What?" Snape bellowed in disbelief.  
  
He shrugged at his Head of House like it wasn't anything new, like the idea of a Malfoy willingly touching a Weasley wasn't preposterous. "I said, I'll dance with her," he repeated.  
  
"Drakkie!" Pansy Parkinson cried, scrambling to her feet and staring at him as if he'd sprouted another head. She was the first of their peers to have spoken out, a good lot of them still frozen silent in shock.  
  
He looked at her levelly. "What?"  
  
Her jaw dropped open. "You can't do this," she declared hotly, "I won't let you ruin yourself like that."  
  
Draco glanced down at his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, for a brief moment before sneering again. "Maybe you don't get it, Parkinson. I'd rather dance with anyone else than you. So if the weasel here-" He pointed at Ginny vaguely, and Ron stiffened, "-isn't one of the numerous girls you've wrongfully warned to stay away from me, which I'm guessing she isn't since she's a Gryffindor, I'll be her partner." He spat out the name of her house with unhidden disdain.  
  
"You-you don't want me as your girlfriend?" Pansy shouted incredulously. The Slytherins were torn between feeling sorry for the blonde and once more, admiring their leader. She sent a venomous glare towards Ginny. "You'd rather touch filth like her?"  
  
"That's enough!" Professor McGonagall intervened, giving Pansy a long, hard look of warning.  
  
"Obviously," Ginny sneered before she could restrain herself, her fury at Snape and Harry bubbling wildly in her stomach, "You're filthier than me, because he'd rather dance with me than you. Or did your lack of a brain forget to process that part?"  
  
If she'd thought the room quiet before, it was nothing to the deathly still that lingered now. Nobody dared interrupt their interlude; most of them were too curious to want to anyhow. Pansy narrowed her eyes, and Ginny resisted a shiver. Pansy was a relatively pretty girl, not as beautiful as some of her Slytherin peers but considerably attractive, and with the leer upon her glossed lips she looked downright evil.  
  
"Excuse me?" Pansy demanded.  
  
Professor McGonagall stepped between them quickly. "This has gone on far too long," she reprimanded, and both girls closed their mouths. "Now, if you would kindly be partnered with Mr. Goyle," she told Pansy, "We could actually start the class." The girl sputtered with indignation, glancing between Draco and Ginny, and then at a stupidly-grinning Greg Goyle.  
  
"Wonderful!" Mademoiselle Nesbit clapped her hands cheerfully, either ignoring or not noticing the animosity thick in the air. "In that case, I will hand out the names of your dance now."  
  
The chattering resumed then, loud and annoying to Ginny whose head had just begun to throb painfully. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as she tried to distract herself from the voices all around her. "What?" She distantly heard Harry's partner exclaim, "We got the Polka?"  
  
"What's an Irish Jig?" Ron asked.  
  
"I refuse to salsa with Vincent Crabbe," a Slytherin said haughtily. Ginny rubbed her temples gently.  
  
"Are you kidding me?" Somebody shrieked.  
  
"Have you ever heard of the tango?" A low voice came just by her ear, the owner's breath tickling her neck.  
  
She turned around and nearly jumped to see Draco Malfoy smirking down at her. "Oh my-you-I-what?"  
  
"The tango," he said again in a voice usually reserved for toddlers. "Have you heard of it?"  
  
"Oh," she managed, feeling even weaker under the intense gaze of his icy eyes. "I-I think I have, yes. Spanish, I think. It's a sexy dance." Ginny immediately flushed upon saying that. It wasn't that she was too pure for the word sex, she simply wasn't used to inserting it into her conversations with the opposite gender, much less with Malfoy. But then again, she hadn't spoken much with Malfoy, at least not civilly. "Why?" She asked hurriedly.  
  
"It's our dance," He replied coolly, suppressing an amused grin as the life drained from her face.  
  
"Our dance?" She squeaked. "You mean, I have to-I have to tango with you?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Relax, Weasley, it's not like we're tangoing under the sheets. Though I'm sure you wouldn't mind."  
  
Her complexion was very well nearing the color of her hair by now. "But the tango is such a," she spluttered, pausing to search for the right word, "it's such a provocative dance."  
  
Draco sneered at her. "What is your problem, seriously?" He demanded. "Are you just as dense as I thought? It doesn't matter whether you think you can't control your desires around me, Weasley, we're stuck with this dance."  
  
"My desires?" She repeated angrily. "You think I want to even touch you?"  
  
"Would you rather tango with the air, then?" He snarled. "Because it seems no other guy in here wanted to touch you."  
  
They stood just inches apart, rage emanating from both of them as they glared at each other, silver upon chocolate, ice against fire, neither willing to back down. A hand landed on Draco's shoulder, and he flinched, seeing Greg Goyle. "Yes?"  
  
"Uh, class was dismissed, Draco," the stout Slytherin said. Draco glowered one more time at Ginny, and whipped around, calmly striding out the door with his impressive robes flickering behind him.  
  
She stared after him openmouthed. Why had he offered to be her partner, she wondered limply, the whole afternoon leaving her quite tired. "The nerve of that prat!" Ron's booming voice interrupted her thoughts suddenly, and she turned to see Ron, Harry, and Hermione behind her.  
  
"I know," Hermione agreed vehemently, glaring at where Draco had disappeared moments earlier. "Can you believe he did that, Harry?"  
  
Harry coughed awkwardly. "Yeah, um, yeah," was all he could say.  
  
Ron frowned at him but didn't make anything of it. "If he tries to hurt you in anyway, Gin," He said seriously, "Tell me and I'll make sure he can never procreate, okay?"  
  
She glanced between his worried face and then to Harry, who couldn't quite meet her eyes. Wait a second, she thought, who says my revenge plan is dashed? What Ginny had needed was an amazing partner, someone with whom she could blow everyone out of the water with, and Draco could suit that purpose. He was handsome, most definitely, in a breathtaking way that left most girls faint at heart, and she didn't doubt he could be a nimble dancer. She couldn't help blushing as she pictured of Draco's taut muscles and lithe frame, his agility and catlike poise. Yes, with some work, Ginny thought, they could create possibly the most stunning routine ever.  
  
"Hold that thought, would you?" She said suddenly, much to their surprise. "I have something I forgot to do." Not bothering to register their reaction, she dashed out the door towards the Slytherin common room, scanning the halls for a glimpse of Draco's white-blond head. "Malfoy!" She shouted at the top of her lungs as she raced towards him, earning many confused glances from the students in between them.  
  
Draco stopped, seeing the frenzied redhead waving her arms wildly, and snickered. She skidded before him, breathless from her excursion and glancing up at him warily. "Meet me back in the room," he muttered to Goyle, who nodded and left. "Yes?" He prompted Ginny, redirecting his scornful gaze to her.  
  
"Um, I had something to run by you," She started cautiously. He didn't seem ready to shove her away yet, and she continued. "Well, okay, see, Harry was supposed to be my partner-we discussed it and everything," she babbled, distinctly realizing she was rambling but seemingly unable to control her mouth.  
  
"You're wasting my time to talk about Potter?" Draco sneered, shaking his head and moving to leave.  
  
"Hold on," she pleaded, instantly shooting out her hand to grab his robe. "Look, then he got distracted by Elizabeth and that's how I ended up partnerless and anyways, I just wanted to get revenge on him by winning those points."  
  
"The house points," he said, his face blank, and she nodded. "You do know that Gryffindor would get half, and Slytherin would get half," he pointed out, "Or did your lack of a brain forget to process that?"  
  
She nearly smiled at the familiar comment. "I do," Ginny responded quickly. "And I think it's still a good way to get revenge. You know how Harry is with pride and winning house points."  
  
"I do," he said curtly, "But what makes you think we can win?"  
  
"I've seen the way you move, Malfoy-"  
  
"Have you?"  
  
"-and I know we could make a brilliant routine," She finished, ignoring his interruption. "I mean, I know it would take some extra work and all but I was thinking, just a few after school and we could be set."  
  
He eyed her with something a mixture between disgust and interest. "So even if we could win, why would I, a Malfoy, sacrifice my time to help you, a Weasley?"  
  
"You don't have to say my name like it' s a plague," Ginny snapped. "And there are plenty of reasons."  
  
"Name them," he challenged.  
  
"One, you can win house points," she said, ticking off her fingers.  
  
"We don't need house points, since Slytherin is so far ahead this year," He retorted smugly.  
  
"Two, it would do wonders for your pride."  
  
He arched an eyebrow. "And daresay, what exactly is wrong with my pride?" Now his voice was low and prodding, dangerous like a cat waiting to strike.  
  
"Nothing," Ginny argued, "But winning is always good, isn't it? Not that you would know considering Slytherin lost to Gryffindor at the last quidditch match." His face grew dark, but he seemed to actually calm a bit. "And three," Ginny said before he could reply, "You would annoy the hell out of Harry and Ron.  
  
To her pleasant surprise, he considered her words. "Fair enough," Draco finally said. "I won't turn down enraging your brother and friends. But I have quidditch practice for most of the week so you'll have to make do with working on Tuesdays."  
  
Ginny let out a breath she hadn't even realized holding. "Tuesdays are great," She assured him, and they both fell silent once again. This time, however, it was a calmer tranquility between them, lacking the antipathy that had radiated so fiercely before.  
  
"You really like Potter to be going to all this trouble," Draco said dryly.  
  
She glanced up, startled by something she couldn't identify in his expressionless voice. "No," she shook her head. "Not that way, at least."  
  
"Then why are you-"  
  
"Think about it, Malfoy," she cut him off. "If one of your friends promised to save you from the wretched humiliation of not knowing anyone in a dance class, and then randomly backed out on you without any warning, wouldn't you be livid?"  
  
"I don't see why anyone would want to dance with you," he said.  
  
"At least I have friends," she snapped back.  
  
A small, impressed smile graced his lips for a second, a real smile devoid of any smirk. Gods, he's sexy when he smiles, Ginny thought. She could honestly see why so many girls liked him now, with his grin that could melt steel, and his broad chest, and firm legs, and when he bent over she was given the nicest view of-stop, Ginny told herself, stop this right now. Was she just salivating over Malfoy? "I'd be furious," he admitted, bring her down to earth. He gave her a sidelong glance before adding, "And your brother's also going to be if you don't return this instant. He's glaring at us right now."  
  
Sure enough, Ginny turned to see Ron standing stiffly by the dance hall entrance. "He's not too reasonable," she offered, not quite sure why she was explaining something to Malfoy.  
  
"Well, he is a Weasley, after all," Draco commented half-heartedly. It was, however, less insulting than his usual sneering remarks and she let it go, stepping away to speak with Ron.  
  
"Wait, Malfoy?" She turned back around. "Um, thank you."  
  
He cocked his head at her. "For?"  
  
"For being my partner. And for helping me win this," she rushed all the words out at once, making it difficult for him to distinguish.  
  
He didn't exactly welcome her gratitude, but he didn't make some demeaning statement like Ginny had expected either. Instead, he just looked at her for a few seconds, with those unfathomable eyes, and then said nonchalantly, "I'll see you tomorrow then," before disappearing down the corridor.  
  
~*~  
  
Ginny was already there when he entered the dance room after school the following Tuesday. The room was empty but for her, tapping her feet anxiously as she checked her watch, the sound echoing throughout. He watched her for a moment after entering quietly, the sun glinting off her smooth red hair and making it seem gold-spun. She wasn't a beautiful girl, far from gorgeous, but there was something about the fire in her cocoa eyes that made Draco think she was also, perhaps, not the same Weasley he'd encountered back in their younger years. And though she didn't possess the drool-worthy bodies of Draco's many ex-girlfriends, she had a frank and honest aura about her, and for that reason he wasn't as repulsed by the idea of touching her as he should've been.  
  
"Nothing better to do than wait for yours truly, eh?" He drawled, strolling towards her and tossing off his robe.  
  
Ginny turned, surprised to see him, and her eyes involuntarily scanned his heather sweater, the collar of his crisp white shirt sticking out conspicuously as he yanked off his tie. "I didn't hear you come in," was all she said.  
  
"Didn't think I would come?" He smirked.  
  
"Do you blame me?"  
  
She had a point. "You should know," Draco said, "That we Malfoys always keep our word. A little thing about pride that we have."  
  
"Ah yes," she agreed with an amused smile. "The infamous Malfoy pride." He pulled his tie off over his head, fingers moving to the hem of his sweater, and her eyes widened. "Why are you undressing?"  
  
"So you can have a glimpse of this luscious body before we, you know," he wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, "tango." Her jaw dropped open, and he winked. "I'm just kidding, Weasley. You try dancing in this insufferable sweater and you'll be sweating like a hog."  
  
She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. "Okay," she said a bit uncomfortably, undoing her own robe. "Let's get started, then."  
  
Draco tossed the sweater to where his pile of clothes were lying and stared at her expectantly. "Well?"  
  
She bit her lip. "I did a little researching," Ginny confessed, "On the tango, that is. And it's supposed to be a very fluid dance so I thought we could start like this." Nervously, she placed a hand upon his shoulder and motioned for him to grasp her free one, trying not to blush at the coolness of his palm and wishing hers were drier.  
  
"You know, I think only two people are supposed to be able to fit between us," he pointed out with a touch of annoyance, "not five."  
  
Now she flushed. "Um, I-" Ginny stammered.  
  
"I'm not going to bite," he smirked, one hand flying to the small of her back and drawing her in with one swift movement. She gasped, but complied, having never been in such proximity with a guy like him before. "You afraid of the big bad wolf, Weasel?"  
  
"No, and I'm especially not afraid of you," Ginny said defensively, resisting the urge to close her eyes. He smelled of spice and lemon, and the scent was driving her out of her mind. What was she doing? Ginny berated herself. This was Draco Malfoy. She hated Draco Malfoy. His touch was supposed to send her into fits of vomit, not set her into fire. She stood limply, her hands progressively growing clammier.  
  
She met his cool gray eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. "Are you just going to stand there like some bloody idiot?" He demanded impatiently. "Because then we're never going to win with this routine."  
  
Ginny sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon.  
  
~*~  
  
They didn't practice during class; she and Draco agreed to spring their amazing routine on everyone instead of revealing pieces here and there. There were three Tuesdays in total before the performance, a short time but long enough for Ginny. The first practice was spent inventing the routine, which took her nearly two hours to do, but took him more than three hours to rectify. She learned that Draco was a perfectionist, and he drilled her relentlessly, pushing their moves past physical limits she thought were set in stone.  
  
He was, however, surprisingly uncritical in the way he corrected her ideas. He was quite patient, in fact, even after the long duration of time, and his suggestions spoken in a calm and helpful voice. It was a side of him she'd never seen, a side of him she rather liked. The most startling thing, however, was when somewhere during the fourth hour he'd run out of water, and had offered to bring her some.  
  
They never spoke in Potions, as she was seated quite far from him anyhow. But now and then during Professor Snape's long lectures her gaze would drift to the back of his head, the perfectly gelled silver-blond hair, the fine contours of his slightly pinched face, and the way his shoulders tensed every time Harry said something. There were times she would wonder if he looked forward to their next practice, and then times when she'd ask herself the same.  
  
It was a sensual dance, and thus it was very peculiar how quickly she'd grown used to the feel of his taut body pressed against hers, his breath constantly inches from her own. It was, if anything, rather enjoyable, though she'd never admit this to anyone. Secretly, she loved watching him dance; he was graceful and elegant, the agility he'd acquired through quidditch breathing life and fire to their dance.  
  
The halls were surprisingly empty after class as Ginny hurried to her second practice with Draco. She was oddly rather pleased to work with him again, a fact she'd managed to establish sometime during the duration after their last practice. She knew that whenever they went through the routine he would survey their moves, obstinately toning them to perfection until the next run through, where he would again find a stretch that could be more passionate, or a lift that could be more daring.  
  
Ginny rounded the corridor and ran smack into the wall. Or rather, a wall that looked like Ron. "What the hell, Ron?" She asked, scrambling back to her feet.  
  
"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. "I just wanted to see if you'd like to hang out with me, Harry, and Hermione. We were going to play Wizard's chess, you know, boys against girls, right?"  
  
"Oh, um," she said, flustered, "I kind of have something to do."  
  
"What?" He demanded, crossing two freckled arms and eyeing her suspiciously.  
  
"I wanted to practice the routine," she confessed.  
  
"Oh." He said in a disappointed voice. "With Malfoy?"  
  
"Yes, with Malfoy," Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's my partner."  
  
"But he's such a bloody prat," Ron began grumbling, but then stopped. "Wait, you're missing hanging out with Harry Potter for Malfoy?"  
  
"I'm not missing anything for Dra-Malfoy," Ginny snapped. "And I wouldn't care about Harry otherwise. Don't you get that I don't like him?"  
  
He spluttered. "But who better than Harry to like? I mean, of all guys, he'll treat with you respect, and dignity, and he's the Boy-Who-"  
  
"Gods, Ron," Ginny interjected darkly. "How long are you going to shelter me? You want me to like Harry because you know he doesn't find me attractive. You know he wouldn't think about shagging me."  
  
"Ginny," He protested, "No, it's not like that. And anyways, you don't even have a routine."  
  
"Ron, you're my brother and I love you but seriously," Ginny declared exasperatedly, "But I'm sick of you shadowing me all the time like some bloody stupid five-year-old, so just sod off." As he gazed after her in open shock, she stormed past him, wiping away angry tears.  
  
Draco was waiting for her when she slammed open the dance room doors, facing the window and craning his neck to survey her watery eyes. "What's the matter," he sneered. "Found Potter kissing another girl?"  
  
She planted two hands firmly on his chest and pushed him into the wall. "Bastard," she hissed. "What is it with people and thinking I like Potter?"  
  
He stared at her bemusedly. "Maybe because you have for the past few years?" He offered in a softer but still sarcastic tone, shooting a look down at where her fingers were resting on his. Embarrassed, she retracted them like she'd touched a plague, but he caught her wrists before she could flee the room. "Let me guess, your brother?"  
  
Her eyes grew large and round. "How'd you-"  
  
"Well first," he replied matter-of-factly, "I can hear you from down the hall, you were shouting so loud. And secondly, it would be my first guess."  
  
"Was I really that loud?" Her voice cracked. "Gods, everything is wrong with me."  
  
The pads of his thumbs were tracing gentle circles into her wrists, and he coughed slightly. "Well, that's not true. I'm sure if we thought really, really hard we could find at least one thing that's halfway normal," he said with a smirk, removing his hands and leaning against the wall.  
  
A smile tugged at her lips. "Thanks, Malfoy," she said wryly, unable to resist laughing at his mock-serious expression. She glanced up timidly. "Would you mind if I called you Draco? You know, now that we're um, working together."  
  
The smirk was incessant. "So you mean I get the honor of calling you Virginia?" He said dryly.  
  
"I'd prefer Ginny," she said.  
  
He tilted his head, staring at her from under long blond lashes. "I've heard Potter call you Virginia," He objected, a hint of challenge in his voice.  
  
She returned his smirk now. "I've heard Pansy call you Drakkie," she shot back, and added with a coo, "Drakkie poo."  
  
He rolled his eyes, pushing her away and strolling towards the center of the room. "Enough said, Ginny. Let's dance."  
  
Her name had never sounded better.  
  
And that night, as she lay awake in her Gryffindor room, watching the moonlight beat patterns across the wall, his voice repeated itself in her head. She could picture his face now; after much time in Potions with nothing better to stare at, the lines and curves were firmly implanted in her mind. But his voice, that low, cool voice of his, and the way he spoke her name, that was what drove her insane, kept her up into the wee hours of the night for reasons she couldn't even explain.  
  
~*~  
  
Draco didn't show up the third time.  
  
Ginny had paced restlessly in the dance room, checking her watch nearly every minute and anticipating his smug face appearing in the doorway. But an hour and a half later, she gave up making excuses, pretending he'd been delayed by Snape or quidditch or anything besides that he didn't want to come, that he'd purposely leave her here.  
  
Now she hesitated, invisible under the cloak she'd swiped from Harry as she stopped outside the head boy's room. The actual stealing part had been rather easy; Harry always left his door open anyone. The difficult aspect of her plan to seek revenge on Draco was sneaking into the Slytherin room, and she'd waited for a good half hour before a whistling fifth year entered with her unknowingly in tow. Of all the nerve to not show up, she thought darkly as she stealthily pushed open the door to his room and slipped inside. She'd show him, and when she was through with his room he'd wish he never stood Ginny Weasley up.  
  
There was one problem, however.  
  
He was there.  
  
She gasped, instantly releasing her loose grip on the cloak she'd stupidly not taken to put on properly and becoming very blatantly visible. He glanced up from where he was reading on his four-poster bed, as unfortunately for her the curtains were tied up with crisp green clothes, and seemed for the first time in his life genuinely surprised.  
  
"Ginny?" Draco frowned, and then spotted the cloak which had fallen to her feet. "You stole Potter's invisibility cloak?"  
  
"How the hell do you think I got in here?" She retorted stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge anything wrong in her actions.  
  
He merely eyed her with curiosity. "What are you doing here?"  
  
She spluttered for a few seconds, dismayed that her plan had gone so wrong and a bit disconcerted to see him without a shirt on, not to say it was a bad sight. She wondered if he was wearing anything under those thick green covers, but pushed the thought out of her head with a mental chastise. "What are you doing here?" She recovered haughtily.  
  
He smiled a little. "Well, it is the head boy's room. And I am the head boy. So I'd say I have reason to be here."  
  
Vaguely, she realized that her cheeks were flaming, but ignored that nevertheless. "We were supposed to practice today. It's a Tuesday," she reminded.  
  
He set the book down and tossed off the covers much to her alarm. Seeing her reaction, he grinned wickedly. "Disappointed?" He asked with a smirk, indicating his green pyjama pants.  
  
"I want an explanation," she said, her voice wavering. "And don't make excuses."  
  
"I'm sick," Draco replied simply. "Snape has confined me to my room, put a charm on the door so I can't get out but other people can get in."  
  
She looked horrified. "Then get back in bed," Ginny said frantically, "Or you'll get more sick. Go, now."  
  
He sent her a strange look but obliged reluctantly. "Don't worry, I'll be fine by Thursday. You'll still win your dance."  
  
"It's not that," she blurted out. "I just don't want to see you ill."  
  
There was a thick, heavy silence, and if it was possible for her to blush more, she did. "You should probably leave," he finally said, picking up his book casually. "Don't want you sick, too."  
  
"I-I was just going," she stammered, snatching the garment.  
  
"Ginny," he called after her, and she paused to meet his eyes. "You needn't fuss about missing practice, you know. We have the dance down pat. It's perfect. You're an amazing choreographer."  
  
"No, you just move in amazing ways," she said softly before tossing her cloak on and vanishing into the air.  
  
~*~  
  
Thursday came faster than Ginny could've expected, but true to his word Draco had shown up in class the day before, flashing her a tight smile of I-told-you-so. She hurried down the hall, wanting to arrive at Physical Education just a few minutes early, already having changed into her costume of glittering red under her black school robes. She'd found the dress in Mademoiselle's plentiful supply of outfits, and though she'd never felt more naked in her life, Ginny knew it looked stunning.  
  
A hand reached out and grabbed her arm. "Weasley," A girl hissed, and Ginny realized it was Pansy.  
  
"What do you want?" She said impatiently.  
  
Pansy smiled, a cruel, nasty smile Ginny had seen directed at many others before. "I just thought I'd let you know why Draco picked you to be his partner."  
  
Ginny frowned. "What?"  
  
"You didn't hear?" Pansy opened her mouth into a round 'o' of mock regret. "He was paid."  
  
Her blood ran cold. "Paid?" Ginny echoed.  
  
"Greg Goyle thought it would be just hilarious for Draco to dance with you," Pansy sniggered. "Naturally, Draco didn't have any reason to, so he offered to pay him, just to see that sight." Ginny paled, and the blonde Slytherin examined her fingernails with another satisfied smile. "I was wondering why he would choose you over me, but I guess I shouldn't have."  
  
"He-he was paid," Ginny repeated dumbly, her mind spinning.  
  
"What," Pansy said, looking up, "You didn't think he actually wanted to dance with a creature like you, did you?" Ginny didn't respond, tugging at her robes self-consciously because in truth, she had thought so. Or rather, she'd hoped that in some way he enjoyed her company in the strange sense that she liked to be around him. "Oh you did!" Pansy feigned an apologetic gasp, winking at her and slipping past. "Well, you better go now, wouldn't want to be late for Nesbit's class."  
  
Ginny couldn't take anymore of this. She'd believed that Draco had sympathized with her, maybe even cared about her. He had been so decent these past few days, and she couldn't help feeling crushed that he was just using her for something else, and money, no less. Not sure exactly what to do, she fled in the opposite direction, never liking the sight of a restroom more.  
  
~*~  
  
Draco frowned as two Hufflepuffs moved in some imitation of dance he couldn't quite recognize. It was nearly twenty minutes into the class, and Ginny had not shown up. From the corner of his eye he could see a few girls giggling at him, and he smiled inwardly. Ginny had done a good job choosing the costumes, and though she'd not let him see hers he was, if anything, pleased with his own.  
  
He recalled that afternoon when they went through the ratty trunk, flinging garments over their shoulders and laughing-yes, actually laughing-at some of the ridiculous getups. It was the first time he saw a different side to Virginia Weasley, where beyond the the spunky comebacks and infatuation with the infamous trio there existed a girl whose wry sense of humor that could actually make him, Draco Malfoy, laugh. That was unheard of, really. He never laughed because something was truly funny, or because he was amused; in fact, Draco had always prided himself on being in total and complete control of his emotions. There was raucous applause, and he was momentarily distracted from his thought.  
  
"Next up," Mademoiselle Nesbit announced grandly, "The Tango, performed by Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley."  
  
If Draco could've lost his cool, then this would've been the perfect moment. His throat parched, his mind confused, he moved to his feet slowly and gave Mademoiselle Nesbit a helpless stare. "My partner isn't-" he began to say, but then the door swung open.  
  
Ginny appeared in the doorway, and there was an audible gasp. The dress she'd picked out-a scarlet, layered gown that fell in revealing V's along her thighs-was unlike anything Draco, or anyone else for that matter, had ever seen her in before. Her hair was pulled back off her face but for a few tendrils that had come loose, and she had make-up on, mascara dramatically illuminating her large brown eyes and a touch of gloss on those full lips. No, she wasn't gorgeous, that wasn't the reason why everyone had fallen still, but she looked nearly unrecognizable.  
  
Draco thought she would've actually been quite very pretty if she didn't look so mad.  
  
"Ginny, what are you wearing?" Ron cried, earning a few titters from all around him.  
  
"Sod off," She said defiantly, stalking past her brother and stopping in front of Draco. "You too," she muttered under his breath with a glare, grabbing his hand viciously as the music started. Unbeknownst to the teachers, she brought the heel of her shoe down brutally upon his, and he held back a yelp of pain.  
  
"What's gotten in to you?" He growled, dipping her down and then flinging her to a standing position so quickly her back nearly cracked.  
  
"You should know," She hissed as they danced.  
  
"What?" He demanded angrily.  
  
She ignored him, instead shoving him violently away and following his feet in the sequence they'd planned. "You're an asshole," she said promptly as he reached out, jerked her towards him, and spun her with more force than necessary.  
  
Ginny whirled back into his chest so hard it nearly hurt her arm, but she just grimaced, hoping the impact broke one of his ribs or better, two. "I'm the asshole," he snarled.  
  
"Yes," she gritted her teeth, clapping her hands once and sashaying her hips. "You are a pompous, egotistical, git-headed, mindless, bastardly- "  
  
Her words were cut of by another rough spin. "Stop being such a bitch," Draco seethed.  
  
"Maybe you should pay me for it," she retorted, lacing her hands into the top of his head as he lifted her up with bruising hands and yanking at his fine, silky hair, the hair she'd longed to run her fingers through for so long now.  
  
"Hey!" He yelped. And then a look of realization flickered in his furious gray eyes, and he whipped her down immediately. "You're mad about the money."  
  
Ginny didn't respond, instead slamming her leg around his waist the way they had practiced so many times, but this time with all the rage she could muster in her body. "You were," she spat out as he pulled her close, "using me."  
  
"Me?" He hissed. "You were the one using me for your dumb schoolgirl crush on Potter. How dare you accuse me of using you?"  
  
"Fine." She stopped suddenly, shoving him away and crossing her arms defiantly.  
  
"Ginny, what the hell are you doing?" He didn't bother keeping his voice down this time. The brassy tango music continued in the background, and she stood stock still, glaring at him and refusing to budge.  
  
"I'm not using you," she tilted her chin. "See? We can't possibly win now. I don't care about Harry. All I-" She trailed off, realizing she almost said that all she cared about was him, and her brown eyes grew wide.  
  
"Ginny, stop this," He commanded, reaching out for her.  
  
She twisted away, her eyes filling with tears. "Gods, Draco, No," she said fiercely. "You don't get it, do you? And you think I'm the stupid one here."  
  
"What don't I get?" He demanded.  
  
Sometime since they'd stopped dancing, Mademoiselle Nesbit had turned off the music and was now watching the couple, as were the rest of seventh years, with a mixture of horror and curiosity. "Us," Ginny bit out quietly, lowering her voice so their audience couldn't hear. "I don't like Potter, Draco, I don't even think about him. Gods, for the past few days the only person who's been on my mind has blond hair and gray eyes, and I count the hours until I can dance with him, hold him and spin with him."  
  
His mouth opened and then closed. "Ginny, you don't know what you're saying. Just dance," he ordered. "We worked so hard on this routine, and there's not a chance in hell we can win if we don't bloody dance."  
  
"I don't want to win," Ginny shouted. "When we practiced I didn't even think about winning. You know why?" His brows wrinkled in confusion, and she didn't wait for his response. "Because," she spat out, "When you put your arms around me, I felt like I won already. I thought, I hoped, that you felt the same way."  
  
His impassive face broke, and a glint of emotion she couldn't decipher appeared in his eyes. "Ginny," he began.  
  
"Stop," she was on the verge of sobbing now. "I get it now, I get why you offered to dance with me. I thought you had enough money, Draco, did you have to go out hurting people for more?" The tears spilled out, and she turned around in embarrassment and anger, stalking towards the door.  
  
Draco's arm shot out and jerked her around to face him. "People make mistakes," he said gruffly, and without another word, he threaded his hand into her hair and bent down, crushing his mouth into hers. It wasn't exactly the tender first kiss she'd always fantasized about, really anything but, yet it was so much more. Ginny's stomach flipped and her knees crumbled, the passion emanating from his lips coursed through her tingling veins, her own lips parting involuntarily and stars exploding in her head, as his tongue probed hers with gentle exploration.  
  
She moaned into his mouth and very faintly heard Ron gasp, as most of her concentration was centered on Draco and the powerful emotion he was drawing out of her presently. Not wanting to stop, she laced her fingers around his neck, pulling him closer and nipping at his lower lip like she couldn't taste enough of him. His sweet cologne overwhelmed her, and Ginny knew at that moment she would never forget the way he smelled, she knew his scent would be haunting her for time to come.  
  
Much to her protest, Draco pulled away, but left a hand upon her cheek to stroke away a drying tear. She was oblivious to anything else in the room, including Ron's furious laments and restless struggles as Harry and Seamus Finnegan held him back, but for the intense silver eyes boring into hers. "Draco," she whispered breathlessly, fingers playing with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, "What are you going to do with the money from your mistake, then?"  
  
There was a sparkle in his eyes that she'd never seen before, but it sent a wave of warmth all throughout her body. "I don't know," he responded. "Maybe I'll spend it on dinner."  
  
Her eyes widened. "Dinner?"  
  
He smirked. "Yeah. You know, dinner. During our first date."  
  
~ The End  
  
A/N* Whee! And its finished. I do like one-shot fics XD they wrap up so quickly. And I still appreciate reviews even though there's no chapter 2 (hint hint) 


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